


Some say the world will end in ice

by Tedronai



Series: Lachesism [1]
Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: Age of Legends, F/M, Gen, War of Power
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-08-30 14:23:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8536564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tedronai/pseuds/Tedronai
Summary: It's the end of the world as we know it; Elan Morin Tedronai has declared his allegiance to an entity called the Great Lord of the Dark in the Hall of Servants and the last vestiges of civilisation are fast falling away. The Great Lord's Chosen do what they do best: bicker amongst themselves as they vie for power in the promised brave new world. Only Elan knows how futile their efforts are. He alone understands the true purpose of the Great Lord.
Or... is he alone?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sgr_A](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sgr_A/gifts).



> Hahaha oh dear. So this happened. (It's been happening for a while already, in fact, it's just taken me forever to get it to a point where I could call it a chapter and post something.) Marzanna belongs to Sgr_A, otherwise known as smeh-i-krik on tumblr, etc. I keep feeling like I should apologise for grabbing your Forsaken and running away laughing gleefully, but... I'm not actually _that_ sorry. ^^;

The streets of Paraan Disen were not safe this night. The sounds of terrified screams, angry shouts and breaking glass disturbed the night air and everywhere people were hurrying along in pairs or bigger groups. Nobody in their right mind wanted to be caught in the streets alone, not in the midst of the madness that had gripped the city over the past twelve hours.

 

_‘Elan, my friend, is something the matter?’ Lews sounded actually concerned._   
_‘Ah, no, everything is fine.’_

 

Elan Morin Tedronai walked fast, avoiding the well-lit bigger streets and crowded areas. He was not afraid — such feelings as fear, anger or grief seemed like a thing from a distant past or perhaps something once experienced by someone else entirely, another person wearing his skin — but he knew he didn’t want to risk a confrontation. He had never been such a prominent figure as Lews Therin, he was mainly known in the academic circles, but enough people knew his face that after today there was not a place in Paraan Disen, perhaps in all of the world, where he would be safe.

_Safe._

The word simultaneously made him want to laugh, and tasted like ashes in his mouth. Nobody was _safe_ ; the world was not _safe_. The people of this Age might think they had tamed the very forces of nature and erased all suffering, leaving death itself as the last enemy to be destroyed, but they were all blind. Worse than blind; delusional. Once upon a time, Elan might have pitied them. Now that, too, seemed like a thing of the past, just another sentiment that no longer held any meaning to him. Had it ever? Sympathy towards a stranger on the street or towards a nameless and faceless person on the other side of the world; _why_ did people feel these things? No, that was not the right question. People felt these things because they were conditioned to feel that way, because it was what _decent people_ felt. The right question — or at least a more relevant question — to ask was why nobody ever questioned that obligation to feel sympathy.

 

_The Hall was in an uproar, but nobody was even trying to restore order. Elan stood in the middle of it, the only one not shouting, the eye of the storm._

_Lews Therin had descended from his throne-like seat and approached Elan with an expression of shocked anger and disbelief. “What madness is this?” the First among the Servants demanded. “Why would you say such things?” A pleading note entered his voice. “Come, friend, it is not too late yet. Take back your words. There must be another way!”_

_Elan simply regarded his friend — former friend — impassively. “It has been too late ever since Mierin and Beidomon drilled the Bore,” he said quietly._

 

He turned a corner — and had to sidestep hastily to avoid collision. The man, half a head shorter and half again as wide as Elan, gave him a startled look which then turned into one of horror as he recognised who he had come face to face with. Elan sighed. Out of all the simpletons in this city, he had to run into someone who knew him by sight. The man scrambled back, but his scream turned into a wet gurgle as a razor-thin net of Air slit his throat. Elan winced in disgust as droplets of warm blood sprayed his face; he could have thought that move through a bit better.

He stepped around the corpse and was about to continue on his way when he spotted someone in the shadows, watching him. Still holding _saidin_ , he made a move towards them, but instead of fleeing, the person stepped out of the shadows, under the dim streetlight and approached him slowly.

“Professor Tedronai?” The speaker was a young woman, just a girl really, short and dark-haired, and though she clearly recognised him, she didn’t appear afraid. That made him stay his hand, not kill her like he just had killed the other unfortunate individual.

“Yes?” he replied, wary but curious. What kind of a person would want anything to do with him, this night of all nights?

The girl was still approaching, taking one cautious step at a time, until she must have seen something in his expression that made her stop, though what that could possibly be when witnessing him kill a man right before her eyes was not deterrent enough, he couldn’t imagine. “You can’t go home,” she said in a low voice, then continued in a rush, “I’ve just come from the library, I heard talk, even the First was there, they were planning to—” Her voice caught and she shuddered, and Elan realised that he’d drawn True Power and shadows were crowding in around the two of them as though the streetlight had gone out.

He breathed deep and forced himself to release the Power. “They were planning to do what?” he asked. Somehow he managed to sound almost calm. Almost.

The girl took another step closer, wide-eyed and apprehensive, as though worried how he was going to react. It took him a few moments to realise that she wasn’t worried for her own safety; she was worried about him. The thought made him want to laugh.

“They were planning to burn your house,” she said. She didn’t avert her eyes, even when she continued, “Like they’d been gathering your books from public libraries and private collections and burning them outside the Academy library for most of the afternoon.”

Her words hit him like a slap in the face. He had thought he had been prepared for everything. They could have cast him out of the Hall of Servants in disgrace, they could have put him in chains, they could have taken his life — none of that would have mattered. In his arrogance, he had thought there was nothing they could do that would affect him anymore. Not for one second had he thought that they would touch his books.

Which was, of course, idiotic. _Of course_ they were going to get rid of his books; after all, who knew what kind of hidden messages he might have woven into his philosophical arguments, so subtly that an unwary reader wouldn’t know to protect themselves against the terrible influence? He felt sick. The number of rarities and first editions in his collection was — had been — unrivalled even by Lews Therin himself and surpassed only by the library of Collam Daan. And his notes… Oh, Light, his notes!

 

He didn’t realise he’d fallen to his knees until he saw the girl before him, somehow towering over him. “Professor?” she said, sounding alarmed. He looked up at her, distantly aware that he had to get up, that he couldn’t haunt the streets all night, he’d have to find somewhere to hide until he could establish a new headquarters…

“Professor—”

With some effort, he focused his attention on the girl. There was something familiar about her, and the fact that she addressed him as ‘professor’ implied that she was or had been a student in the Paraan Disen Academy. He thought he could remember her attending his lectures, but couldn’t summon a name. He supposed that wasn’t relevant right now. She was…

Holding out her hand? Elan realised that she’d been talking for a while, but he had no idea what she’d said. “Can you repeat that?” he asked, staring dumbly at the offered hand.

“I know a place you can stay,” she said. “If you need one. For a while. Or— or for as long as you need. Please, it’s not safe for you out here.”

_It’s not safe for anyone,_ he wanted to say, or maybe _I don’t care._ He said neither. But he took the hand and let the girl help him up.

 

He let her lead him through the city until they reached a district that he knew was favoured by students and the recently graduated due to the lower rent. He actually owned flats in places like these in several of the major cities, including Paraan Disen, but Barid knew about most of those and there was no guarantee there wouldn’t be a strike team waiting for him in each one. _Barid._ He hadn’t let himself think of Barid since his declaration in the Hall, and he shut the door on that thought even now, though the look his companion gave him suggested that she’d noticed something. Wisely enough, she said nothing.

He followed her to an apartment complex that looked just like the ones on its either side. The light in the hallway was yellowish and probably produced by electricity, not _ter’angreal_. That was cheaper. There was an elevator — that was mandatory in inhabited buildings higher than two storeys — and they rode it to the top floor. Only one of the three doors had a name next to the doorbell, and that’s the one the girl opened and ushered Elan through.

The apartment was smaller than he’d expected, or maybe remembered, or maybe it simply felt that way because of how full of _things_ it was. Bookshelves lined the walls. The only window was partially covered with a heavy curtain, letting only a little of the city’s lights through, and matching curtains hid the doorway to the kitchen and a sleeping alcove. There were clothes on the couch and on the floor and across the back of the chair by the desk. Piles of paper dominated the desk, most of them scribbled on with a pen, though if she was a student she must have more modern writing appliances as well; the Academy provided those to everybody.

“You should sleep.”

Elan turned to look at the girl, realising that he was just standing awkwardly in the middle of her apartment. He looked at the couch, which was covered in clothes and books and papers, wondering if he should move them out of the way or if that would be out of line. That was such an absurd thing to be thinking about, as though he hadn’t just less than twenty-four hours earlier triggered the final stage in the collapse of their modern civilisation. He knew how to destroy — people, ideas, the world, possibly time itself — but nothing about his academic career or what he had learnt from the Great Lord of the Dark had prepared him for… this.

“Take the bed,” the girl said, and Elan was suddenly grateful that there was no way she could know what he was thinking. “It’s out of sight. If anyone comes in, I can’t have the Betrayer of Hope on my couch. I’m sure you understand.”

Elan suppressed the urge to laugh; he was afraid that if he started, he might not be able to stop. Instead he just nodded, like the suggestion was perfectly reasonable. “Alright.”

 

* * *

 

 

He didn’t think he’d be able to actually sleep, but in the end he was out like a candle almost as soon as he lay down. He woke up some hours later, feeling considerably more grounded and calm though no less exhausted. A stool next to the bed, in place of a nightstand, held a stack of books he hadn’t noticed before, and out of idle curiosity he channelled a bit of light to read the titles.

His breath caught when he did.

There, in a neat pile, were copies of several of the books Lews Therin and the Hall had been trying to erase from published history. Obviously his unlikely rescuer hadn’t seen it fit to add her copies to the pyre. That should not have been surprising, not after she’d gone out of her way to help him. His hand shook a little when he reached for the topmost book; it was worn but clearly from being read a lot rather than through careless treatment. He opened it and saw his own handwriting on the title page:

_Marzanna,_   
_Nobody survives life, yet everybody lives._

And under it was his signature. He set the book back on top of the pile. He could vaguely remember writing those words — it had been a couple of years ago, after a lecture, the last lecture he’d taught actually. He’d been tired and stressed and anxious to get home; he didn’t know why he’d stopped when one of the students had called out after him but even then there had been something rewarding about how the girl, Marzanna, had looked at him. Of course, now he was even more glad that he’d stopped, though he’d never expected to meet her again.

 

“You’re awake?”

The whisper was quiet enough that he suspected she was wary of waking him in case he’d been asleep, and for a moment he considered pretending just that but decided against it. “Yes,” he replied, sitting up.

Marzanna drew the curtain aside and sat on the edge of the bed. She cast a quick sideways look at him — he realised with some dismay how dishevelled he must look — before looking towards the window again. There was not much to see, only a square of grayish sky slowly growing lighter with the approaching dawn. “The riots aren’t dying down,” she said after a while. “Just getting worse. Someone I know is out there, liveblogging it, if you can imagine.”

Elan chuckled wryly. “Oh, I can.” Lews Therin would likely have done exactly that if this had happened when they were in their twenties. Possibly even now, if his duties didn’t keep him elsewhere.

She looked at him again. “How are you feeling?”

“A little surreal,” he replied before he could think better of it. “Eval tried to warn me against isolating myself today. Yesterday. Whatever. Who’d have thought they actually knew what they were talking about.” He hadn’t thought the events of the past twenty-four hours would particularly affect him; everything that had happened had been necessary and almost everything had gone as he’d expected. So why did he feel so… adrift? It was absurd. “Why did you help me, Marzanna?”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “You remember my name?” she asked. “I didn’t think you recognised me at all.”

He grimaced slightly; some other time he might have said yes, let her believe that he had remembered her, secured her loyalty with an easy lie, but right now he didn’t have the energy to keep up the pretence. “No, I saw your name on the book. Sorry to disappoint.”

“Not at all,” she hurried to assure him.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Elan said. “Why did you help me?”

Marzanna didn’t answer instantly, watching him carefully, as if to gauge how he might react. “Because I believe you,” she replied eventually. “Because I… _understand_. That things need to change. And if that change means the destruction of everything our society thinks it is… I’m fine with that.”

He wanted to laugh. She said she _understood_ , this girl who must be closer to twenty than thirty — and yet, something about her almost made him want to believe her. “There’s going to be war,” he said, backing into a corner of the bed, leaning against the cool wall. “Like nothing described in even the most obscure history texts. We may well end up destroying the entire planet and the human race with it. Do you still _believe_? Do you still _understand_?”

She took this in with admirable composure, if not completely unfazed. “Nobody survives life,” she said with a delicate shrug. “Why should that not apply to civilisations, species, planets? The sun will die eventually. Will the universe grieve its passing?”

“Of course not. But the death of our sun is still millions of years away, so far that most people would consider it practically eternal.” He raised an eyebrow and gave his companion a pointed look before closing his eyes. “Most people would cling desperately to the knowledge that the world shouldn’t end within their lifetime, or that of their children, or children’s children.”

Again, a moment of silence. Then, “I assume this is not how you usually recruit people to your cause?”

Elan snorted. “I haven’t done much recruiting in… probably longer than you’ve been alive.”

“Right.” She sounded a bit annoyed, perhaps rightly so; Elan wasn’t sure himself if he’d meant offence with his word choice. “Do you want tea or something? I’m gonna make some for myself.”

“Sure.”

He got up as well and tried to straighten his clothes. At least he hadn’t slept in his coat. “…Can I use the shower?” he asked.

“Oh, of course,” Marzanna replied. “Let me find a clean towel for you.”

“Thank you.”

 

The bathroom was small but clean and considerably less of a disaster zone than the rest of the apartment, Elan noted. Perhaps because nobody in their right mind would keep books in the bathroom. That thought made him laugh though it wasn’t that funny, and he had to consciously rein himself in to keep from spiralling into a fit of hysterical laughter. The effort made him feel drained and all too close to tears.

Surely he was too old to be falling to pieces in a strange bathroom.

 

By the time he emerged again, hair still damp and smelling faintly of herbal conditioner, he felt almost balanced again. His clothes were over a day old and once slept in, but they were all he had and he wasn’t going to ask Marzanna to do laundry for him, so he’d just have to deal with it.

He found Marzanna sitting on the couch, now cleared of the miscellaneous scattering of possessions that had occupied the space before, with a tea cup in hand. Another cup and a quaint little pot of tea, as well as something that looked like toast and jam, were set on a tray on the small table. Elan sat and picked up the cup; he couldn’t identify precisely what was in the tea but the taste was warm and smooth and more like herbs than actual tea. When Marzanna nudged the plate of toast towards him, he obediently picked up a slice, but after a couple of small bites set it down again.

“If you want to go back to sleep, go ahead,” Marzanna said. “You only slept for a couple of hours. To be honest I wouldn’t mind a few more hours myself.”

Elan didn’t have anything better to do, and he was still tired, so he nodded. The view of the sky out of the window was a pale shade of pink now; the sun would be up soon. Nothing about that piece of sky betrayed that underneath it the world had changed. He turned to go back to bed, not feeling courteous enough to question the earlier arrangement.

“Do you want me to contact anybody for you?” Marzanna called after him. “Don’t get me wrong, I meant it when I said you can stay for as long as you need, but just in case there’s anyone you think should know your status.”

His first thought was Barid but that was of course impossible. He tried to think. Mierin Eronaile would be a disaster, and Joar Addam not much better; both should be busy with their own tasks, besides. He did not exactly have _friends_ , not anymore. But Marzanna was right; he couldn’t remain completely out of the loop for much longer without risking something going wrong in his absence. “Eval Ramman,” he said finally. “Here, let me write down their number. If they don’t answer your call, just leave a message with ‘chosen’ in it and they’ll know it’s important.”

 

He woke up again briefly some time later to the sound of Marzanna speaking, but obviously she wasn’t talking to him so he drifted back to sleep. His dreams were a wild jumble of images and emotions that made little sense and none of those images held as much as a hint of prophecy so he made no effort to remember them.

 

* * *

 

 

It was late afternoon when Eval Ramman arrived, and that’s what woke Elan again. Though the other Chosen’s attire and make-up were flawless as always, they looked like they hadn’t got much sleep, either. “Really, Tedronai?” they drawled, one perfect eyebrow arched. “You’re fucking your students now?”

Somewhere to the side, Marzanna gave an alarmed yelp, protesting that there was _definitely no fucking_ going on.

Elan briefly considered setting everything on fire. He slumped on the couch, looking at anywhere but Marzanna. “I’m not fucking anybody,” he muttered. “As I’m fairly sure you figured, so knock it off.”

By the looks of it, Marzanna had gone out and picked up takeaway at some point, and what was probably supposed to be for Elan was left on a tray with a Preservation net to keep the food warm and fresh. He didn’t feel like eating. Eval, however, looked at the tray and began picking cheese onion rings without as much as a by-your-leave. Elan wondered idly how they managed it with such grace despite their unreasonably long nails. Fake nails; they certainly hadn’t been anywhere near this long just two days ago. What a pointless thing to notice.

After a moment of awkward silence, Eval — licking grease off their fingers — looked at Elan again. “What are we going to do with you, Tedronai?”

Elan had no answer, and Marzanna came to his rescue again. “What do you mean by that?” she asked, sounding suspicious.

“What I _mean_ ,” Eval replied, rounding on her, voice rising in anger, “is that the de facto leader of the Great Lord’s Chosen, whom you seem to have spirited off into your bed whether he’s fucking your or not, _cannot vanish like that!”_ They turned to Elan, glaring. “Some people are thinking you burned right along with your Light-blasted library! Mierin Eronaile has been trying to claim your place for the past twenty-four hours!”

Elan was suddenly glad he was already sitting down. He almost wished he had burned with his writings, he wouldn’t have to be dealing with the aftermath. He flinched when Eval knelt before him, took his left hand and delicately pressed two fingers to his wrist, but he couldn’t muster much interest in whatever the other Chosen was doing so he just let it happen.

After a moment Eval huffed an exasperated sigh and turned again to Marzanna, who was hovering nearby. “Do you have anything sugary? Juice or something?” Eval asked. “Mister Too Edgy For This World appears to have forgotten that the Great Lord doesn’t grant us the ability to function without sustenance… at least yet.”

“Of course.” Marzanna ducked into the kitchen and returned with a glass that she gently placed in Elan’s hands.

Elan felt her concerned gaze as he lifted the glass to his lips and drank slowly. Once the glass was empty, he leaned his head back, eyes closed. He felt the glass being taken away, and then the couch shifted slightly as someone sat next to him — Marzanna, it had to be. She took his hand and he let her. He heard Eval pacing back and forth in the room that was really too small for pacing but it didn’t seem to slow them. At some point their callbox buzzed and they spoke behind a sound ward for a while.

 

After the call, Eval dropped the ward and tapped their booted foot. “And now, we need to get going.”

“Going where?” Marzanna asked instantly, a hint of challenge in her voice. She did not let go of Elan’s hand, and for some reason he found that oddly comforting.

“When I say ‘we’ I am talking of Tedronai and myself,” Eval replied smoothly. “You have our thanks for looking after him, but you have no idea what you’re getting into.” Pause. “Anyway. Do you have a name? Pronouns of choice?”

“Marzanna,” she replied, sounding slightly defensive. “And ‘she’ will do. Thanks. I guess.” She drew a deep breath. “I’ll be coming with you. Unless Professor Tedronai doesn’t want me to.” Before Eval could reply, she added, “You said he’s the leader.”

Eval swore colourfully under their breath and seized _saidin_ , but miraculously things didn’t start breaking. “Does _that_ look like _leading_ to you?”

All Elan wanted to do was sleep, but he’d already let Marzanna take charge of a situation she was in no way qualified to deal with for too long. He opened his eyes and straightened, facing Eval’s best glare. “She’s coming with us,” he said. “If we left her, you’d try to argue that she’s a liability and have her eliminated. That’s not going to happen, so she may as well come with us now and spare you the argument.”

Eval tilted their head and the look on their face was entirely too smugly knowing for Elan’s taste, but as long as they acquiesced, he wasn’t going to call them out for thinking unvoiced thoughts. “Very well,” they said, turning to Marzanna. “Grab anything you need to bring with you. You may not be back for a few days.”

“My books—”

“Will still be here when you return,” Eval cut her off. “They’re not exactly raiding poor students’ quarters for forbidden texts.” Their voice turned bemused as they spotted something on a shelf. “Though clearly they should. No, fear not, your books will be quite safe.” When she was busy with packing her things, Eval spoke to Elan in a low voice. “Got yourself a true disciple, have you, O Dark Messiah?”

“Shut up,” Elan muttered, running a hand through his hair.

Eval snorted. “She could be useful… of bloody dangerous.”

“I aim for both,” Elan replied. He didn’t actually have any specific plans to use Marzanna, but Eval’s tone had managed to annoy him enough to get a response out of him. Besides, Eval was likely right. “Where do you plan to take me? Surely not your place? No offence but Marzanna’s bed beats your couch, and I doubt you’d surrender your bed again.”

Eval shook their head with an impatient sound. “Kamarile Maradim’s country house. She’s _graciously_ ” — the emphasis on the word implied anything but — “given it to our use now that she’s no longer housing patients there.”

“Should have figured.” Out of all the potentially available headquarters, Kamarile’s country mansion was very likely the safest — at least it was the most isolated — but it was also one of the last places on the planet Elan wanted to be. But lacking a rational argument, and seeing as Marzanna was done gathering her things, there was nothing to it but nod. “Let’s move, then.”

 

Eval made the gateway and ushered the others through, but took the lead once on the other side, walking briskly through the maze-like hallways of the mansion. The place had changed since Elan had last seen it. He supposed he should have expected that; either way, he was glad. He looked at Marzanna, walking beside him; she was frowning at Eval’s back.

Elan patted her arm and spoke quietly, “Eval’s an acquired taste.”

Marzanna started guiltily and glanced up at him. “I’m sure.”

“I can hear you, you know,” Eval remarked, glancing over their shoulder. Then they waved to the pair of women who emerged from around a corner. “I told you I’d find him.”

Mierin Eronaile and Kamarile Maradim descended upon the small party like a swarm of locusts. At the sight of Marzanna, their very evident disapproval shot up several notches. “And what’s this then?” Mierin asked, not bothering to hide her contempt.

“A student of mine,” Elan replied smoothly, though it required some effort. “I trust you don’t have a problem with that?”

Mierin looked like she bloody well had a problem and Kamarile actually rolled her eyes, but neither said anything. Marzanna faced their less than flattering regard with cool indifference, and if it was fake, it was good enough that even Elan couldn’t tell. He felt absurdly proud of her, the first real emotion he’d felt in what seemed like an Age.

“That’s all very interesting, I’m sure,” Eval interjected and it was only then that Elan realised that Mierin had been talking again. Mierin glared murder but Eval simply went on, “However, we have more immediate concerns right now. Such as feeding our glorious leader before he passes out where he’s standing.” They looked between Mierin and Kamarile as though making a judgement call. “Mierin, you’ll see to that, I trust. Kamarile, if you would be so kind and find a room for Marzanna; she’ll be staying.”

Elan didn’t hear the rest of the conversation because he was being herded off by Mierin who was grumbling under her breath about babysitting and strangling somebody. He suspected he was the object of both verbs but didn’t feel any particular concern over his safety. Then again, he supposed he wouldn’t, even if Mierin was inclined to follow through on her threats. For one, he could overpower her with the True Power easily enough if he wished to, and for another thing…

Well, it was purely hypothetical anyway.

 

By the time they reached the kitchens, a _zomara_ had already laid out a bowl of what looked and smelled like strawberry soup made of almost real strawberries. The thought of eating made him want to gag and he was suddenly glad nobody seemed to expect him to force down anything more solid. As he seated himself by the table and reluctantly picked up the spoon, he almost wished Marzanna was there with him instead of Mierin. Then again, maybe not; Mierin had her own human disaster friend in Joar Addam, she’d be used to something like this. Elan wondered idly what Joar Addam’s particular brand of destructive behaviour was. Maybe drinking. Definitely isolating himself.

“Do you remember that time you poisoned me at the party?” Elan asked after two slow spoonfuls of the artificially flavoured soup.

“I _drugged_ you,” Mierin replied. “There’s a difference.”

“Didn’t feel that different.”

“Really?” One perfect eyebrow arched in inquiry. “Have you been poisoned many times?”

Elan didn’t feel that warranted an answer and so he focused on the soup again. After another two spoonfuls he looked up again. “My _zomara_?” he asked. “Were any of them recovered?”

Mierin snorted. “Only you know how many you had, but as far as anyone can tell, they all showed up at Shayol Ghul around the time the Hall was burning your house down.”

“Ah.” Elan wasn’t surprised, not really, and in this case he suspected he wouldn’t have been surprised even if his emotions were functioning properly. The _zomara_ were clever, after a fashion, though they couldn’t be called _intelligent_.

 

After what seemed like an interminable amount of time, Mierin let him give up on the rest of the soup. When he failed to summon proper resentment at requiring permission to not finish his food, finding only mild irritation and even that mostly directed at himself for letting himself get to this point, he briefly entertained the thought of asking Kamarile for — something, anything, but quickly decided against it. He did not want her to look at him as a patient ever again. And besides, did he really want to be experiencing the full range of human emotions right now? That was a rhetorical question, even inside his head, though he supposed that a bit of anger might have been useful.

“What time is it?” he asked.

“In which time zone?” Mierin replied. She shrugged, giving him a look that he could only call evaluating. “Probably mid morning in Paraan Disen. Late enough here that you can go to sleep if you want, but you’ll have to get a grip and soon or you will be replaced. The revolution waits for no man, and simply being the first of the Great Lord’s followers will not protect your status for much longer if you don’t start earning it again.”

Elan found that he didn’t have to force a smirk. “And you would be so very grieved if I were to be replaced, wouldn’t you, Mierin?” He didn’t wait for her to reply. “Be that as it may. The _zomara_ will show me my room, yes?”

Mierin shrugged again. “I assume so. Why don’t you go and see? I have better things to do.”

“I’ve no doubt.”

 

The _zomara_ led him to what looked like a master bedroom, presumably one of several because there was no way Kamarile would have given up hers for him. There was a pile of clothes neatly folded on the bed, not Elan’s own but clearly chosen for him by someone with an eye for colours. Eval, he suspected; getting to dress him was probably their idea of fun. He could probably try to be glad that somebody was enjoying themselves, and if that meant that he was able to change out of his days-old, slept-in clothes, he really didn’t have anything to complain about.

He showered and considered going to find someone to bring him up to date with the developments since his announcement, but the desire to sleep won and instead he crawled into bed.

 

* * *

 

 

He woke up in Marzanna’s room. It took him a while to realise that the bed was different than the one in which he’d gone to sleep. He rolled over to his back and rubbed at his face in dismay; suddenly developing the habit of sleepwalking was the last thing he needed right now.

He looked around in the dim room and found Marzanna. She was wrapped in a blanket, curled up in a plush armchair by the window. Her long hair was loosely braided, with a few stray wisps framing her face. She looked even younger asleep, Elan thought. The thought was not entirely without guilt, but it was easily discarded; young she might be but she was an adult, capable of making her own decisions. It was neither Elan’s duty nor desire to try to spare her if she wanted to follow him into the Shadow.

As he watched, her eyes fluttered open and she looked back at him, fully awake at once. “How are you feeling?” she asked. Her voice, slightly hesitant as though she suspected he wouldn’t want to answer the question but had to ask anyway, made alarm bells ring at the back of his mind. What had happened?

He opened his mouth to say _I’m fine_ , but the words got stuck in his throat. Instead, after staring dumbly at nothing for a moment, he asked in turn, “How did I get here?”

Marzanna shifted in the chair, sitting up straighter, and tilted her head. “You were… in a bit of a state,” she said eventually. “Nobody else saw,” she added when Elan said nothing for a while. “As far as I’m aware at least. Who really knows what these people see. If there’s security cameras…” She made a tiny shrug.

Knowing Kamarile, there definitely were. The question was only whether they were being watched at this hour… whatever the hour was. Ah well. Nothing to be done about that right now. “So I just… sleepwalked through the mansion, right to you?” he said, already more amused than embarrassed. He shook his head slowly. “I don’t even know where your room is. If I believed in fate, on such a trivial level as this…”

“If you’re making fun of me, Professor,” she began, sounding as though she half assumed he was.

“Not at all,” Elan replied quickly. He pushed himself up on one elbow, leaning forward towards her. “Marzanna, would you believe if I told you that I’ve been looking for you? Without even knowing it?” He knew he must sound like a lunatic but he had used up his ability to care.

Marzanna was looking at him with disbelief and something else, something far more vulnerable warring in her expression. “Don’t say things like that if you don’t mean them,” she said, and though her voice was quiet, there was a clear note of warning in it. She would be utterly loyal, Elan was sure of it — a disciple, Eval had called her — but right now she was still trying to protect herself from being hurt.

Which was something Elan could respect. Many of those who gravitated to the Great Lord of the Dark, most of the talented ones at least, did so because they had been hurt and they would do anything to keep it from happening again. Elan forced a smile, not caring that she could see the effort behind it. Let her see, and let her believe. “I mean it,” he said. “Every word of it. I… need you, Marzanna.”

She looked at him, the look on her face like that of someone about to step off a cliff, welcoming the oblivion rushing up to embrace her. “Then you have me,” she whispered. “You have me… Elan.”

 

* * *

 

That morning Elan Travelled to Shayol Ghul. Most of the Chosen, after their initiation only went there when summoned or when they had something to report or in hopes of more power and prestige among the Friends of the Dark. Elan went when he needed… reassurance. He was never entirely certain, afterwards, what he said to the Great Lord of the Dark, or what He said back, or whether what passed between them could be called conversation in the first place, but each time he emerged with a reinforced sense of purpose, the Great Lord’s Vision freshly laid before his eyes.

He returned to Kamarile’s country house a full twenty-four hours later — time flowed differently near the Bore — feeling more functional than he had in months. People stepped out of his way with alacrity as he strode through the hallways; out of the corner of his eye he could see several of them taking a double-take, staring after him as though they couldn’t believe it was truly him. He spared them no mind.

 

He didn’t stop until he reached his quarters, uncertain what had brought him there — he had announcements to make, orders to give — but when he found Marzanna there he knew precisely what he had been looking for. Even now, it was her. That had not changed, though he supposed he was a rather less pathetic sight than the last time he’d showed up at her door.

She looked up from the notebooks she’d surrounded herself with, as though studying for an exam, of all things. She, too, seemed surprised at the sight of him, but — unlike the pathetic life forms calling themselves Friends of the Dark who all but jumped to hide from his attention — there was no fear in her gaze. “Welcome back,” she said. She got to her feet and tilted her head slightly. “Had a good chat?”

Elan smiled. “Indeed,” he replied. “The time for idle musings is over, Marzanna. It’s as Mierin said; the revolution waits for no man.” He extended his hand, still smiling, and she took it without hesitation. “Come. The zomara will gather the others. It’s time to show them what it means to be the Great Lord’s Chosen.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which I reveal just how little I know about anything pertaining to weather phenomena but do I care? Nah not particularly.

Marzanna had never seen a _zomara_ before. She’d known they were a thing, of course, but it was usually the wealthy and the eccentric who employed the creatures, and her family had been… well, not one that had servants of any sort. When one of the creatures had accompanied her back to her apartment to pick up her books the previous day, she had tried to be polite; she’d made her instructions requests, not orders, and thanked it when it did what she wanted, but its eerie smile had left her feeling a little foolish for her efforts.  
The result was, however, that she now had her books in her room in the Maradim country manor and she didn’t have to worry quite so much about somebody deciding to set the student blocks on fire as the riots continued in Paraan Disen.

The next step would be to acquire an extra bookshelf to accommodate said books. She’d mentioned it to Eval — while Elan was visiting Shayol Ghul, Eval Ramman had been her main contact among the Great Lord’s Chosen, which was to say they’d been the only one who would take the time to check on her — and Eval had promised to see what they could do about it.

The change in Elan when he returned had been astounding; he all but shone with rekindled conviction, beautiful and terrifying as he took charge of the bickering bunch that called themselves Those Chosen to Rule the World Forever. He never even had to raise his voice — a look there, a few carefully chosen words here, a gesture or a thin, sardonic smile, that was all it took to make them fall in line. Marzanna had never doubted his charisma, she could remember it from his lectures even when his mind was obviously not in the lecture hall, but this was the first time she truly saw him as the leader of the Chosen and she was deeply impressed.

And through the meetings, she was at his side, silent but ever present; and though she could see many wanted to, none dared question her right to be there. Of course, that had been mostly Elan’s influence, not her own, but for her part, she had met their condescending or openly hostile looks without flinching and more than one of them had seemed to revise their first impression of her over the course of the meeting. It was almost funny; she hadn’t really done anything, just stood next to Elan like a strange, tiny bodyguard.

 

After a light lunch in the company of Eval and Mierin Eronaile — one of whom Marzanna welcomed, the other not so much — they retired to Elan’s quarters. Elan seemed to be in a good mood still. Marzanna couldn’t help wondering how long it would last. Maybe now that things were happening, now that progress seemed reasonably quick, maybe it wasn’t just the lingering effect of communing with the Great Lord and it _would_ last. She didn’t miss the speculative looks several of the Chosen kept casting in his direction, however. She made a mental note to talk to somebody about it.

Well, ‘somebody’, as though she had many options; it would have to be Eval. She still wasn’t sure what exactly she thought of that particular Chosen; she hadn’t forgotten that their first words in her presence had been to insinuate that she was sleeping with Elan. But despite their obvious frustration with Elan’s vanishing and general lack of executive functioning, they had never gone out of their way to be rude or malicious. The same could not be said of Mierin Eronaile, who seemed to be another person who had a long history with Elan, and that ruled her out.

Marzanna idly wished she wasn’t so hopelessly new to the interpersonal dynamics among the Chosen. It would be all too easy to step on the wrong toes and get in trouble. She had no doubt Elan would protect her, but she didn’t want to rely on that privilege any more than necessary; she wanted to be an asset, not a burden.

 

As though reading her mind, Elan turned back to her. “Do you happen to have any skill in weather manipulation?”

“Me? Yes,” she said quickly, thankful that she was able to give a positive answer. “What do you need me to do?”

Elan smiled like he had never expected any other answer. “I need you to accompany Eval to Paraan Disen,” he said. “Say… do you like winter? A proper winter, not the regulated light snow season the city has been getting since before you were born.” His voice became distant, his eyes staring at something she couldn’t see. “It wasn’t always like that, you know. There were proper winters in Paraan Disen when I was your age. You could get snow up to your knees or even higher, in parks and where ever it wasn’t cleared out.”

“That sounds lovely,” Marzanna said, a touch wistful. Then she nodded. “I’ll give them a winter to remember.”

Elan laughed, a sound of pure delight, and cupped her face gently with his hands. “I know you will.”

 

* * *

 

And that was how Marzanna came to be atop one of the tallest buildings in Paraan Disen, holding a freshly stolen weather regulator _ter’angreal_ with both hands, bracing herself against the rising wind that felt almost strong enough to sweep her off the roof. That was not quite true, yet at least, and Eval was standing guard right behind her and they didn’t seem to have any concerns of that sort so it was probably just a flight of fancy.

She drew more of _saidar_ , channelling a steady flow of Air and Water, with a trickle of Fire and Earth and a moderate portion of Spirit into the _ter’angreal_. The sky above them churned, clouds forming and dispersing halfway as the weather wards tried to resist the unscheduled snow storm. She persisted, the _ter’angreal_ making the manipulation almost laughably easy for her; she did laugh when the sky split with a crack of thunder and lightning illuminated the world with a bright electric light.

“Whoa, what the hells?!” Eval exclaimed, startled. “I thought we were getting snow, not a bloody thunderstorm!”

“It’s not exactly like turning a switch,” Marzanna replied calmly. “And weather manipulation is an unpredictable science at best.” She smiled, filled near to bursting with the Power coursing through her. “I will give you snow. I promised Elan that. But first…” Another thunderclap rattled the windows of the building below them. “First, we may get a bit of rain.”

Eval swore colourfully and channelled a shelter of Air above them both just before the heavy purple clouds released a torrential rain upon the unsuspecting city. “A bit of rain,” they muttered, mimicking Marzanna’s voice. “I think I see what Tedronai sees in you…”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Marzanna replied.

“Sure,” Eval said. “Whatever. That’s what I meant anyway. Now can we get that snow any time soon or should we just flood the place? I think we’re about to get company, and not the kind we want to stick around and wait for…”

Elation turning to grim determination, Marzanna sped up her channelling as much as she dared; a complex net moved the clouds, manipulating their temperature and consistency, and finally — the time had not been very long but it had felt like an Age and a half — finally the rain turned to sleet, which then turned more and more snowy until the air was so thick with huge snowflakes that she couldn’t see as far as the next building.

“Right,” Eval said, hugging their trench coat more tightly around themselves. “Time for us to be gone.”

“Give me one second,” Marzanna replied. She tied the net in place — it wouldn’t last long, it was too massive to remain stable once she was gone, but it would last for a while and perhaps the effects of its eventual collapse would be equally interesting. Then she dashed after Eval through the gateway they had already opened.

 

There were several other people in the conference room — she recognised Mierin and Kamarile but not the third woman — but her attention was instantly on Elan. He stood by an open gateway, looking over what must be Paraan Disen on the other side unless the snowstorm had spread wider than she had ever intended. His slim form silhouetted against the billowing snow, for a moment he looked like an avatar of Death before he turned around and let the gateway snap shut behind him. Snow melting in his wind-tousled hair, face flushed either with pleasure or from the cold, his eyes shining as he smiled at her—

She could have gladly died for him to look at her like that.

Somehow, without consciously moving, she was in his arms and he lifted her up and whirled her around like a child and she was not a child but she didn’t mind too much, he was laughing and she realised that she was too. When he set her back on her feet, slightly dizzy and out of breath and she could tell he was too, the entire room was staring at them like one of them had grown a second head or something. Suddenly very self-conscious, but damned if she was going to show it, she stared coolly back.

 

Elan chuckled. “Well done, Marzanna, Eval.” He turned back to Kamarile and the tall, dark woman in black who looked like she could kill with a single look. “Nemene, please carry on as you were, your work has been most efficient. Kamarile, you will support her efforts as needed. Feel free to take Joar if you need anyone to keep the paperwork straight.” Both women looked disgusted by the very idea, which seemed to amuse everyone else present.

“Mierin,” he continued once Kamarile and Nemene were gone, “if you can bring yourself to acknowledge my orders for once, I would greatly appreciate if you could stay out of Lews Therin’s dreams for the time being. To put it bluntly, my dear, you’re interfering and my patience grows thin.” His voice was still overtly pleasant but with an undertone of cold steel and there was a dangerous glint in his eyes.

Mierin looked like she wanted to argue but decided against it. “Of course,” she said, sounding almost meek; it had to be an act but it was a good one. She even went as far as to curtsy before taking her leave, though the gesture was more obviously sardonic.

Elan watched her go with an equally wry smirk. “If I equipped you with a dreamweaver, Eval, do you think you could check on her every now and then to make sure she doesn’t give into the temptation?” he asked.

The other Chosen shook their head, though not in denial. “I could try, but even with a dreamweaver, her ability in _Tel’aran’rhiod_ far surpasses mine. If she wanted to hide, I couldn’t find her.”

“Let’s forget about that, then,” Elan said, waving his hand in a casual gesture. “I will find out, one way or another, if she’s been disobeying her orders. Thank you for assisting Marzanna today.”

“Assisting her?” Eval replied. “I thought she was assisting me.” They sounded more amused than offended, though.

“That,” Elan said, “depends entirely on your point of view. As everything. I trust I don’t need to tell you to let me know if your sources find out anything about how quickly Lews Therin can mobilise an army against us. All they’ve been doing so far looks like aimless running about, but if I know Lews Therin — and I dare say I do — he already has a plan but he’ll keep it close to his chest.”

“Yes, boss,” Eval replied, seeming very much like they wanted to roll their eyes but in a good-natured way. How they managed to combine ‘good-natured’ with ‘one of the Great Lord’s Chosen’ was yet a mystery but it seemed to come quite naturally to them. “I’ll leave you guys to it, then,” they added before turning on their heels and ducking out of the room before anyone could comment of throw anything at them.

 

“And acquired taste indeed,” Marzanna said, running a hand through her hair; snow-melted water was dripping to the thick carpet but it would only take a simple net of Air and Water to clean it so it didn’t matter.

Elan made a vague sound of agreement as he walked over to the small table by the wall and poured himself a glass of brandy. “Eval is one of the most trustworthy Chosen, as far as you can call any of them ‘trustworthy’,” he said, offering another glass to Marzanna.

“Yeah, I figured as much,” she replied, accepting the glass after a moment’s hesitation. “And it’s not that I don’t like them, not at all. Maybe that’s why I find them so strange; they’re the only actually likeable Chosen I’ve met so far. Everybody has an agenda; surely they must, too. Yet they don’t seem like they would stab you in the back and I’m not sure I trust that.”

Elan chuckled and threw himself onto the couch, miraculously not spilling any of his drink in the process. “You have good instincts, Marzanna.” He gestured to the space beside him, and she took a seat as well, in a slightly more orderly manner. “As for Eval’s agenda, you’re going to have to ask them yourself, but you’re right in that they’re possibly the least likely to stab me in the back at the first opportunity…” He trailed off, then flashed a slightly self-deprecating smile. “Well, after you at least.”

Trying not to grin like an idiot, she tilted her head a little and asked, “Does that mean you consider me one of the Chosen?”

“Absolutely,” Elan replied. “We do still need to have you visit Shayol Ghul to swear your oaths, to make it official, but as far as the Great Lord is concerned — as far as I’m concerned — you’re one of us now. Your actions earlier today only confirm that.” His eyes shone with pride and he leaned forward. “It’s a beautiful storm,” he whispered. “Utterly beautiful. And it was only the beginning. What do you say about M’Jinn tomorrow? Or D’aru Jhistan?”

“Why not both?” she replied, trying — in vain — to contain her enthusiasm; the chance to prove herself, to keep proving herself in the eyes of her new peers was of course part of it, but if she was honest with herself, the only one whose opinion she truly cared about was the man before her. “If we strike twice in one day, they won’t be expecting the second one and it will take them longer to organise a recovery attempt. Besides, two more such storms will royally mess up the weather in a far wider area than I could directly reach with the _ter’angreal_.”

Elan smiled. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

 

* * *

 

The weather continued to bend and twist all around the world over the following days as Marzanna used the _ter’angreal_ in several of the major locations. She began to be called the Bringer of Winter by the agents of the Light, and the name suited her fine. Elan himself stood by her side as she masterfully saw to the finishing touches of the massive net that would cover the city of Shorelle and the surrounding areas. Elan, Eval and a woman she’d never met before were all linked with her, lending their strength to her efforts and the amount of Power coursing through her was intoxicating and a little bewildering.

They stayed to watch as the snow began to drift, first slowly but once it started, it rapidly gained in intensity until the world around them was a torrent of blinding white. Releasing the Source, and dissolving the circle with it, made Marzanna realise just how draining the channelling had been, but the pride in her achievements won over exhaustion and she stood straight, head held high as the city slowly drowned in snow. She could barely see her companions, and she jumped a little when Elan took her by the hand. He drew her close and as she looked up at him, he gave her a confidential smirk. And then he leaned in to press a soft kiss on her forehead.

“Chiema,” he whispered. “My winter-bringer. Some say the world will end in ice, when the sun goes dark everything withers away. A hundred years ago I would have called that so much poetic drivel; we’re close enough to the sun that our world will end in fire, not ice, once the sun begins to die. But the discovery of the Great Lord changed… everything. Maybe He can truly make the sun simply go dark. I believe He could.”

Marzanna had nothing to say to that; she didn’t know the Great Lord of the Dark like Elan did. She squeezed his hand gently, concerned but trying not to show it. “I believe you,” she said. She reached up with her other hand to touch his face, running her thumb along the line of his jaw.

He leaned into the touch, closing his eyes with a small sigh. “If the world ended now,” he said, a wistful note to his voice. “If this snow would just never end. It could bury the entire world, the world and all of us and. Night would fall forever and it would be like none of us ever existed.” He opened his eyes again his and smile was peaceful though there was a world of yearning in his voice when he spoke again. “That would make me happy.”

Heart breaking for him, Marzanna made herself smile up at him. “I don’t think I can make it snow that much.”

Elan laughed, but if the sound held any joy it was of the bittersweet kind. “I’ve no doubt you would try,” he said. He looked down at her with half-lidded eyes, snowflakes caught in his eyelashes, melting on his face and in his hair, and he seemed on the brink of saying something more when Eval suddenly emerged from the blizzard and grasped his arm.

“Hey! You two can continue snogging back at Kamarile’s place, we need to get out of here!” they said sharply, pulling Elan towards the already waiting gateway. Elan stumbled and would have fallen if not for Eval and Marzanna, and together they steered him through the gateway. Once they were out of the snowfall, now instead trailing snow and snow-melted water in the hallway, Eval shook their head in exasperation. “Situational awareness, my friends. You might want to look into the concept.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Marzanna replied, but her attention was on Elan. He was quiet and seemed tired, even more so than her though she was the one who had been doing intense channelling every day for the past week. She was still holding his arm, and she gave it a light squeeze to try and gain his attention. He did look at her, then, but the look in his eyes was unfocused and distant, almost vacant. “Eval…” she started.

Eval rounded on her, but then they seemed to notice Elan’s state. “Oh, bugger this,” they muttered. “Am I your flaming nurse, Tedronai? Huh?” But though their tone was scathing, they showed surprising gentleness when they picked Elan up and carried him through another gateway straight to his quarters. Marzanna followed. A pair of _zomara_ showed up seemingly out of nowhere to take charge of their master, and Eval left them to it, turning to Marzanna. “Those things can tend to him for a while, change him into dry clothes and such, and I suggest you go do the same in the meanwhile… I mean, unless you really want an eyeful of his scrawny ass?”

Marzanna felt her face flush with embarrassment but she made herself not scramble out of the door with all haste. Instead, she nodded. “Sounds like a plan,” she said. “And you’ll probably want to do the same too, but I need to talk to you after that. If you’re free?”

A perfect eyebrow arched in inquiry as Eval regarded her with a curious expression, but they didn’t ask out loud. “Free, easy; I’m all of it, honey.” They waved their hand in a dismissive gesture. “Really though, yeah, sure. Meet you back here? Or is it a more private matter?”

She shook her head. “Back here is fine.”

 

  
After changing into dry, warm and comfortable clothes, Marzanna headed back to Elan’s quarters. Though she thought she’d been reasonably fast, Eval was there already, looking as though they’d jumped straight out of a fashion magazine. Even their make-up was ridiculously on point, making Marzanna suspect that they employed a _zomara_ or two to help them dress. The mental image was unexpectedly funny and she had to stifle a nervous giggle.

Of course, they noticed that. “And what’s so funny?”

Marzanna shook her head. “Never mind that,” she said. She walked across the room to where Elan was lying on the bed, unconscious as far as she could tell. She laid a hand on his forehead and ran a Delving, but it discovered nothing that Healing could fix. “Was it the channelling?” she asked, not really expecting a definite answer. “He was fine earlier… Wasn’t he?” But even as she spoke, she knew that ‘fine’ was not a word that could be applied to Elan Morin Tedronai.

Eval, thankfully, saw that too and spared her the condescending lecture most other Chosen would have gleefully launched into. “He’s always had his ups and downs,” they said slowly. They pulled up a chair next to the bed and sat down, and Marzanna perched cross-legged on the edge of the bed. “From what I can tell, it’s been more dramatic since the discovery of the Great Lord. When he’s like he’s been for the past week or so, he thinks he can do anything, and he’ll bloody well convince most others, too. But it’s only a matter of time until he crashes hard. Like, well. As you can see.”

Marzanna nodded. She reached for Elan’s hand resting atop the covers; it was warm, perhaps too much so. She resisted the urge to fidget. “I think he’s running a fever.”

Eval grimaced. “We’ll set Nemene and Kamarile at him. There’s not much they can’t fix. In one way or another.”

That didn’t sound entirely reassuring, and Marzanna couldn’t say she was happy with the idea of letting either of the women mentioned ‘at’ Elan, but for the moment she had to trust Eval’s judgement. Setting that aside for the moment, she did have another thing she wanted to talk about, one she wasn’t sure how to approach. The best way, she figured, was probably to be direct; at least Eval could respect that even if they thought her question was out of line.

“Are you in love with him?” She didn’t add ‘too’ but she was sure they heard it anyway.

Eval nearly fell off the chair. “What, with— _Tedronai?”_ they asked, though who else on earth could she be talking about; they had to be stalling for time. “No, I’m. Darkness, no. What makes you ask that?” They seemed truly baffled, but there was no judgement or mockery in their voice, for which Marzanna was grateful.

Marzanna shrugged, fiddling with the fringe of her shawl. “You look after him,” she replied. “You’re gentle with him. When he needs it. I mean. Mutual support doesn’t really seem like a thing the Chosen do, in general.”

Eval looked distinctly uncomfortable but, to their credit, didn’t shut down the conversation though they could have refused to say anything further. “Sure, I like him,” they said. “I’m— You could say I’m fond of him. There’s, ah. History.”

“History, as in..?”

Eval smirked. “I’d say it’s not what you’re thinking, but if you can’t say it out loud that you think we were fucking, why should I make it any easier for you?” Marzanna had no answer to that, and they didn’t seem to expect any. “Well, that may have happened too — and you’re welcome for any unwanted mental images — but I mean that, long ago, I was an intern to a Barid Bel Medar, and you see, Barid Bel and Elan Morin were practically inseparable. So.”

“Oh.” Marzanna wasn’t sure what she’d expected, precisely, but this was so much more mundane, somehow. She tried to summon everything she knew about Barid Bel Medar but the best image she had was that of a vaguely intimidating, businesslike man, completely unlike Eval. It was difficult to imagine Eval working for him.

Eval gave her a wry smirk. “Any other questions?”

There were plenty of questions Marzanna wanted to ask, but she had already taken up enough of Eval’s time for now, and besides, she was almost too tired to think straight so she just shook her head. “Thank you, Eval.”

Eval rose smoothly and leaned over Elan, laying a hand on his forehead for a few seconds. Then they pressed two fingers to his wrist to check his pulse, all in a calm and precise manner that indicated that they were used to doing things like that. They looked at Marzanna as they straightened again. “I don’t think he requires Nemene’s attention, yet at least,” they said. “I can get her if you’re worried, but for now I’d say that you keeping an eye on him should be enough. What do you say?”

Marzanna let out a small sigh of relief. “I agree,” she replied. “I’ll call you if he gets worse.”

“You do that,” Eval said. Then they chuckled slightly. “You obviously know how to contact me, so we should be good.”

Marzanna smiled a little in return. She waited until Eval was out of the room, and then she finally gave in to her exhaustion and lay down next to Elan. She was hesitant to sleep in case there was a change in his condition, but then she became aware of the _zomara_ hovering at the edge of her vision.

“Where’d you come from?” she asked, turning her head to look at the creature. “Were you here the whole time?” The construct didn’t answer, of course, but Marzanna had a feeling that there was a significance to its presence. It took a moment but finally it dawned on her. “Oh. You’re psychic, right? You’ll know if he needs help? And you’ll wake me, right? If I don’t wake on my own?”

The creature still didn’t reply — Marzanna wasn’t sure if they had the ability to speak — but it smiled, and though the expression was slightly disconcerting from one of its kind, Marzanna felt that she had her answer. That settled, she curled up by Elan’s side and was asleep in a matter of minutes.

 

* * *

 

Elan slept through to the following morning, and once he awoke, he seemed to have settled somewhere between the manic high of the past week and the debilitating apathy that had preceded it. He didn’t talk to Marzanna about what happened, beyond apologising for giving her cause for concern.

“Will you apologise to Eval, too?” she asked, all innocence.

That earned her a startled look. “Why would I do that?”

Marzanna gave a delicate shrug. “You gave them ‘cause for concern’, too,” she said.

“They’re used to it,” Elan replied, a touch irritably. “I see the weather, at least, has not normalised yet,” he went on, changing the subject as though the matter of Eval was settled as far as he was concerned.

Marzanna made a vaguely affirmative sound. She wasn’t entirely impressed with how he seemed to take Eval for granted, all things considered. He could at least show some appreciation for having a — well, she wasn’t sure she could use the word ‘friend’, but at least a true ally in the ranks of the Chosen. Even if the others weren’t constantly planning for his eventual downfall, the relationship between Elan and the others was more that of a leader and his minions rather than allies, and from what she had seen, most of the minions settled into their roles grudgingly at best. She hadn’t forgotten Eval’s words about Mierin Eronaile trying to usurp Elan’s position when the chosen had thought he might be dead.

 

* * *

 

The unseasonal snow didn’t last long, but it had shaken the general populace of the affected areas, and Eval’s intelligence networks brought report after report of the Hall’s resources being tied up in trying to contain the damage, both moral and material. This had also earned Marzanna the grudging respect of many of the other Friends of the Dark, if not the high-ranked Chosen; of those, Eval was still the only one besides Elan himself who would give her the time of day. That was fine with her; she didn’t particularly want to associate with the likes of Kamarile and Nemene anyway, let alone Mierin.

 

* * *

 

It was several more days until she was summoned to Shayol Ghul to be officially sworn in as one of the Great Lord’s Chosen. She was accompanied there by Eval instead of Elan himself, and considering his last visit had triggered the manic episode that had ended on such a dramatic note, she didn’t think of complaining.

 

The Great Lord’s Voice — she could only think of it with a capital letter — was completely unlike anything she had ever imagined. The agony and ecstasy of it overwhelmed her completely as she knelt on the rough stone floor of the cave and for a time she forgot that Eval was watching, forgot about Elan waiting back at the Maradim country house, forgot about why she was there at all, very nearly forgot her own name. Everything but the Voice speaking to her became irrelevant.

When it was over and only the memory lingered, she felt vaguely sick. Whatever the Great Lord was — nobody had been able to answer that question definitively — it was unnatural, and having had that Voice speak to her inside her own head made her feel deeply uncomfortable. Did all the Chosen feel that way? Surely not, considering the effect a visit had had on Elan. She looked at Eval, waiting for her at the mouth of the cave. What did they experience when they listened to the Great Lord? Would they judge her if she said anything about how off the whole ordeal felt to her? Not that she was going to talk about it, ever, to anyone.

“You alright?” Eval asked when she passed them. They made as if to pat her shoulder, but she sidestepped and they withdrew their hand without touching her and fell in at her side half a step behind.

“Fine,” she replied. “I’m fine.” She felt like something more was expected of her, some comment, but she couldn’t summon the will to lie about how glorious the encounter had been. “That was… intense,” she eventually said; that much was true at least.

“That it is,” Eval agreed. They didn’t seem to mind her reticence and didn’t attempt to make further conversation as they opened a gateway back to the Travelling room at Kamarile’s place and waved her through.

 

On the other side she was surprised to see not only Elan waiting but several others as well, including Mierin, Nemene, and a number of people whose names she didn’t know even if she had met them before. She looked at Eval, then at Elan, trying to figure out if this was a normal procedure when a new Chosen joins the ranks, but somehow she doubted it. For one, Eval seemed as stumped as she. For another, several of the other Chosen in the room seemed to have trouble containing their high spirits.

“What’s up?” Eval asked, letting the gateway close behind them.

“We are at war,” a tall, short-haired woman said. The momentous announcement was ruined slightly by a soft snort from Elan, which earned him a withering look from both Mierin and Nemene. Elan didn’t seem to notice.

“What, now?” Eval replied, looking at Elan for confirmation or an explanation. “I must have missed the part where we weren’t already…”

“We have always been at war,” Elan said, leaning back in his chair and stretching his legs out before him. “And always will be. Most people are just too preoccupied with their little lives to see it.”

Eval shook their head, amused or exasperated or both. “Yeah, sure, whatever. Malian?”

The tall woman who had spoken before answered in a triumphant voice. “Lews Therin Telamon has declared war against the Shadow.”


End file.
